


Magic at Lyme, or, The Midnight Company

by emily_grant



Category: Kate and Cecelia - Caroline Stevermer & Patricia Wrede
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 08:29:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emily_grant/pseuds/emily_grant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Aunt Elizabeth takes eleven-year-old Kate to the seaside for a week, the last thing either of them expects is magical shenanigans, yet that is exactly what they get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic at Lyme, or, The Midnight Company

**Author's Note:**

  * For [betony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/betony/gifts).



_October 12, 1810  
Lyme Regis_

_My dearest Cecy,_  
I take my pen to write you from my tiny bedroom in the equally tiny guest house where Aunt Elizabeth and I are staying. My bedroom is tiny—but it is my own, and neither Aunt Charlotte nor Georgy can burst in on me to demand I improve my time or attend on them, for they are not here! Only Aunt Elizabeth, in the bedroom beside mine (we share a sitting room), and while she is prodigiously strict, she also doesn’t scold me or compare me to Georgy at every moment. It is most restful.  
I am sorry that my joy comes at the expense of your misery. To be sure, if I’d realized that Aunt Elizabeth bringing me here to fully recover from influenza would mean Aunt Charlotte moving in and taking charge of you, Oliver, and Uncle Arthur, I don’t think I could have agreed to it. Not that my agreement or disagreement would have made a jot of difference to any of them! Isn’t it grand to sometimes think of the day when we are grown-up and Aunt Charlotte and Aunt Elizabeth can’t boss us anymore? I have often heard Aunt Charlotte refer to eleven as a “most _trying_ age,” but I cannot think it’s anymore trying to her than it is to you and me to actually _be_ eleven and at the mercy of our aunts.

Not that Aunt Elizabeth has been dreadful in the slightest. Indeed, she has been kindness itself to me ever since I fell ill, and just thinking of her generosity in bringing me to Lyme in hopes that the sea air will aid my recovery fills me with guilt for ever complaining about her.

It is not at all the proper time of year to be at Lyme, of course. Too cold for bathing, and no fashionable people filling the inns and lodgings. Only the people who live here and invalids both recovering (like myself) and permanent. So I shall have nothing important in the way of gossip to relate.

_Later_

Well! Something Has Happened! And I do not know at all what to make of it. _How_ I wish you were here.  
As Aunt Elizabeth and I strolled along the Cobb, I noticed we were being followed quite closely by a Mysterious Stranger. He was tall, wrapped in a dark cloak, and kept a hat pulled down over his eyes, so I couldn’t make out any of his features or his clothing. Even if he hadn’t taken these precautions, I doubt I should have been able to take note of anything, for as soon as Aunt Elizabeth saw me turning around to watch him watching us, she tugged me forward again, saying that Young Ladies Do Not Stare at Others.

I could tell she was troubled, though, by her refusal to look anywhere but directly in front of us, not even glancing at the sea or the sky (and the sea was lovely today, all ruffled with the wind and the exact grey color of your Starlight’s coat. I’m afraid a pony isn’t the best simile for the sea, but truly, that is the best match), and she turned us around before we had gone half our intended distance.

“I am sure you are tired, Kate,” she said when I questioned her. I wasn’t, not a bit, but I know better than to argue when she speaks in That Voice.

The Mysterious Stranger clearly wasn’t expecting us to turn around so soon, and so we passed him before he could gather his wits and leave. He had the effrontery to nod at Aunt Elizabeth as though they were acquaintances, and say,

“Your servant,” to her, in a low voice as though he didn’t want me to hear.

She gave him the cut direct, of course, just swept on by as though he hadn’t spoken or stopped at all. But I _distinctly_ saw him press something into her hand, and she didn’t drop it, but carried it clutched in her fist the rest of the way back here. Whatever do you suppose it could be?

I am certain you will say that it is my _duty_ to find it and learn what it is, but I fear that is impossible. Aunt Elizabeth is not a bit like Aunt Charlotte, you know, and I am certain she would catch me if I ever tried to snoop amongst her things, and she has never been a bit deceived by my bouncers. It is most vexing. If only you were here to help me! Even Georgy would be useful as a distraction, if nothing else. She can always be relied upon to burst into tears at the right moment over anything at all—a scuff on her slipper, or that her new frock doesn’t have enough flounces, or that the sea air is affecting her curls poorly—and then in the midst of all her fuss it would be quite simple to slip into Aunt Elizabeth’s room and find whatever it was the Mysterious Stranger gave her.

Alas, I am here without either of you, and must do my poor best alone.

Ever yours,  
 _Kate_

_From the Commonplace Book of Elizabeth Rushton_  
Lyme Regis  
October 12, 1810 

A most unpleasant occurrence happened this morning while Kate and I were out for our morning stroll. I was feeling pleased (which just Goes to Show) because already Kate is showing signs of improvement. Away from Charlotte’s constant criticism and free from her own inner comparisons to Georgina and Cecilia, with, I think, the benefit of a new place and the sea air, Kate’s color is better, her steps stronger, and her overall air more alert and less languid. So yes, I was feeling decidedly smug over what a good idea of mine it was to bring her here for a week.

Then we were followed (in a most clumsy manner, I might add). Even Kate noticed, and I had to speak quite sharply to her. I didn’t recognize the man (note that I do not call him a gentleman, though when he spoke to us his accent was educated—but I anticipate), but I could sense that he was using magic. Impertinent beast! I warded Kate and myself, though it grieved me to do it, and decided it would be best to return to our quarters before he did anything even worse.

Then he had the effrontery to speak to me, and hand me something. Had I been less furious—how dare this wizard accost me in front of my niece!—I would have promptly dropped it. I was not in enough command of my facilities, though, and so simply clutched it to myself, waiting until we were back here, in our lodgings, and Kate was settled in a chair with her needlework, to look at it.

It is a little jade dragon paperweight. I recognized it at once, of course. How many times had I played with it while waiting for W to finish studying “just one more essay, Lizzie”? Once I even cast an enchantment on it, causing it to dance across W’s desk whenever he had sat there too long and needed to eat and drink something.

I cannot tell whether I am more furious or heartbroken. Who is this man who holds a trinket so personal, so precious, and why would he give it to me? What does it all mean?

Enough of this. I am going to finish writing, leave the dragon wrapped in a handkerchief in the washstand drawer, and go read one of Mrs More’s books (of which our landlady has in abundance) to Kate. 

_Lyme Regis  
October 13, 1810_

I must say, I never expected this when I so blithely offered to bring Kate here after her bout with influenza.

Last night, I was woken out of a sound sleep by a clicking noise near my head. Naturally, my first thought was of mice, yet it did not sound exactly like rodents. More like stone on wood …

I sat up and lit a candle, and opened the drawer to my nightstand. As I feared, the jade dragon had wriggled its way loose from the handkerchief, and was pacing back and forth, tail whipping as its feet clicked on the bottom of the drawer, back and forth, back and forth. I reluctantly picked it up—

No. I must be honest here at least, if nowhere else. Part of me was repulsed, to see a spell that I had created with and for the man I loved used by someone else, but part of me yearned for magic again. Just that brief warding spell I had cast around Kate and myself earlier in the day had awakened all my hunger for magic, and now here was this enchanted dragon, tempting me back toward it. How wicked must I be, to long so for something that killed my William, a death I could have prevented had I not been equally enthralled by and arrogant in my magic.

Enough maundering! This book is to be a record, not an excuse for indulging weak emotions.

So then. I picked up the dragon and instantly saw it wasn’t just my spell on it anymore. Someone had placed a calling spell on it, so that as soon as I held it in my hand, I was immediately drawn to a location elsewhere.

What else could I do? By now, I was determined to get to the bottom of this. Who had W’s dragon, and what did they want from me?

I dressed myself, wrapped a dark cloak around me (how fortunate that I am not given to Charlotte’s love for inappropriately youthful bright colors—only imagine trying to sneak through a sleeping house and town at midnight in a scarlet cape like hers!), nestled the dragon against my heart, and ventured forth.

Thankfully, I did not have far to travel. I can only imagine how I would have responded if some shore-bound sailor had seen me! I am thankful only a cat or two watched my journey, and before the quarter-hour had passed, I was knocking on a tiny wooden door of a house that was little more than a hovel, wondering what on earth I was going to say if this proved to be nothing more than a hoax or faulty enchantment.

My fears on that score were relieved as the door instantly swung open, revealing the man from the morning walk, the one who had given me the dragon. “You came,” he said. “I was afraid you would not.”

I raised my chin and stared at him. “I only came to demand an explanation,” I said. “And you had best make it quick, as I do not intend to spend all night out on the streets.”

“Then you should come in,” he dared say, swinging the door even wider.

I stood my ground. “No, sir. Whatever you have to tell me can be told here.”

He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “I am afraid, Miss Rushton, that it cannot. Wards against listeners, you know, don’t work very well when there are no walls to bind them to.”

Infuriatingly, he was right. So I did the most foolish thing of that foolish night.

I walked in.

Drat! I hear Kate stirring. Dear child that she is, I cannot help but wish she would sleep longer. I should be thankful of the sign of her returning health, but another hour or so to compose myself would not come at all amiss.  
I shall resume later.

_Lyme Regis_  
October 13, 1810  
Dear Cecy, 

The mysteries grow deeper! Aunt Elizabeth has been yawning _all day,_ and has even spoken quite sharply to me on several occasions. Granted, I was being my usual clumsy self, and spilled tea all down the front of my dress once, and knocked over a vase with flowers from a side table entering the house, and shattered it (the vase, not the house) into a thousand pieces another time, and poked myself with my needle until I bled all over my embroidery another time, and tripped and tore a dozen stitches out of my frock another …

But it is still odd, because usually Aunt Elizabeth gets exasperated at my clumsiness, not cross. And she was decidedly cross today. And tired, as I already mentioned. In fact, she’s taking a nap _right now,_ in the middle of the day, when she has always declared that a sign of laziness! Now I put it to you, isn’t that strange and mysterious? I declare, I shall go distracted if I don’t get an answer soon!

_Yours, Kate_

_Lyme Regis  
October 13, 1810, later_

Oh dear, poor Kate. I have been a bear to her today. Granted, she was being even clumsier than usual, but sarcasm and sharp words only ever make the poor thing worse. I do wish the child would learn to control her limbs, though! It’s enough to drive a saint to distraction at times, and that I certainly am not.

(And yes, I am aware of the likely origins of her clumsiness, but I don’t care what Arthur says, no niece of mine will Ever Study Magic, not while I have anything to say about it! Even if that does put me in the disgusting position of agreeing with Charlotte on something.)

Enough of this. Where did I leave off?

Oh yes, entering the house. So there I was, but thankfully not alone in an empty house with a strange man. As I descended the few short steps into the main room, I saw five other people gathered there, sitting around a crude wooden table.

“Dear me,” I said. “If I’d known this was a party, I would have dressed for the occasion.”

It wasn’t, perhaps, the most scintillating comment ever, but as proved with Kate today, I tend toward sarcasm when I am worried.  
They ignored me, as I deserved, and one of the men on the far side of the table stood up and moved into the dim lantern light.

“Miss Rushton, I am so pleased you have decided to join us.”

As the light fell more fully on his face, I could not hold back a slight gasp. It was W’s dearest friend (aside from that false friend, that fiend, Sir H), Mr Gordon.

The man behind me coughed, and I moved aside to let him into the room. “I’m afraid she hasn’t joined us yet, Gordon.”

I found my voice again. “Indeed not! For I have no idea what this is all about. I came to demand an explanation for this!” I brandished the jade dragon. The spell had worn off, and it was as cold and lifeless as the stone it was.

Mr Gordon had the gall to look proud. “That was my idea. Good, isn’t it? I thought you might turn away from any of us, but I knew you wouldn’t refuse a summons from the dragon.”

I was losing my patience. Mr Gordon might have been W’s friend, but he was nothing to me. “Just what have I been summoned to, sir?”

That was when one of the ladies at the table rose and took command, at last injecting some sense into the affair. Really, Mr Gordon and the man who started it all (who was eventually identified as a Mr Digby) ought to have let Lady Kerr handle the entire matter.

Lady Kerr, Mr Gordon, Mr Digby, and the others at the table whose names I don’t recall, are all dedicated—so they say—to protecting England’s magicians from those who would twist and warp their powers for evil. After my dear W’s demise, Mr Gordon became concerned about the experiments he had been doing, and grew even more concerned when, in snooping (he described it as “looking,” to be fair) through W’s papers he found all notes on his experiments since he became obsessed with magic were gone.

Now, even I know he took meticulous notes. Goodness, I transcribed some of the early ones, before he began to ignore me as well as everyone and everything else, including his own safety.

In fact, that is where I come in. They managed to trace the papers to a Sir Francis Rollingham, who is currently staying here in Lyme, but he has put some spell on them so that they cannot abscond with them as they desire. But since some of the notes are in my hand, I ought to be immune to any sort of protection spell. Therefore, they want me to go in and retrieve them.

I asked, naturally, how they know Sir Francis Rollingham meant ill by the notes. They seemed to think it self-evident. I shall have to find out more about the man before I accept their judgement.

As for whether I shall steal the notes back for them or not? Well! It is utterly out of the question.

After all, I have Kate to look after, even if I was inclined to go along with their scheme. No, I cannot even think of assisting them. They shall simply have to do without me.

_Lyme Regis  
October 13, later still_

The stars seem aligned against me. Our landlady has brought me an invitation to a conversazione at Sir Francis Rollingham’s house tomorrow evening. It seems he is familiar with Arthur’s studies (which is a wonder, since none of Arthur’s nearest can claim to even understand his passions, much less boast familiarity with them) and he wishes to meet the sister of “such a distinguished man.”

I would refuse on account of Kate, but she is so much better since our arrival no one would believe claims of ill-health. Plus he mentioned that his children are staying with him, and they will be delighted to have Kate’s company for the evening. I truly have no excuse to stay away that will not make me appear exceedingly ill-bred.

Drat! At the very least, I can promise myself that I will not ask him about W’s notes, nor cast any spells myself to discover them, nor assist the midnight company in any way.

If that dragon starts beckoning me again tonight, I shall hurl it through the window, sentimental attachment or no.

_October 14, 1810_  
Lyme Regis  
Dearest Cecy, 

Oh dear, _how_ I wish you were here to help me! Aunt Elizabeth informed me at breakfast that we are attending a party or lecture or some such affair at a gentleman’s house who knows your papa’s studies. I couldn’t see why I should go, but she said he has his own children with him, and Mrs Grant, the landlady, said that there were going to be other children invited for supper and games and maybe a bit of dancing of their own, and wasn’t that nice, Miss?

Oh Cecy, I know I shall make a fool of myself! I shall trip and stammer and blush and break things, and all I have to wear is that horrible old blue frock Aunt Charlotte made for me in the most unbecoming style, because it will look lovely on Georgy once I outgrow it and she grows into it (although, Cecy, I begin to suspect I shall never grow any taller, and indeed, I think Georgy is already the same height as me, and about to be taller, which means I shall be wearing this ugly dress forever unless I manage to damage it beyond repair tonight—do you think Aunt Elizabeth would be _very_ cross if I smeared cream buns all over myself, and do you suppose she would suspect I did it on purpose or blame it on my general clumsiness?), and truly, I wish I could just stay here with a book.

Aunt Elizabeth says we must go, though (and she doesn’t look any happier about it than I feel, which is odd, because she doesn’t care two pins about Society and what anyone thinks of her), so I suppose I have no choice. Alas!

_Your distracted and nervous,_

_Kate_

_October 15, 1810  
Lyme Regis_

Once again, my best-laid plans have fallen to pieces. Smashed, perhaps, might be the better way of putting it. How strange a thing fate is!

But I must begin at the beginning, or I shall never get my thoughts ordered.

So: correctly gowned and gloved, Kate and I left our lodgings this evening for the short walk to Sir Francis Rollingham’s rented house. I could tell Kate was nervous, but being rather apprehensive myself, couldn’t find the words to brace her up. She tripped no less than five times in the course of our ten-minute walk, and at the last stepped on my hem as we entered the house and only just managed to avoid tearing it. She left a great muddy stain on it from her shoe, and I had to bite my tongue _very_ hard to avoid scolding her. I did not wish to appear in front of Sir Francis and all his guests with a mud-spattered hem!

I reminded myself that I was there on account of being a scholar’s sister, and could therefore be expected to not care about paltry things like dirty gowns. Certainly Arthur never bothers about whether he is presentable or not!

So, with chin raised high and a stiffened backbone, I saw Kate into the care of the Rollingham children’s governess and followed the manservant into the drawing room.

Sir Francis Rollingham himself bustled over at once to greet me. He is a portly little fellow, with the appalling habit of rubbing his fat white palms together when he is—or wishes to appear—well-pleased. He is mostly bald, with a few thin strands of faded black hair combed over the top of his enormous shining pate, and he speaks with a lisp.

It is, perhaps, unnecessary to add that I heartily detested him on sight. While I would not condemn a man based solely on first impressions, I shuddered to think of those pasty paws grubbing about W’s private papers.

I then met Lady Rollingham, who is a faded, indeterminate sort of person, and the rest of the guests. Lady Kerr was among them, and so was Mr Digby, lurking about the potted palms and doing his best to remain invisible. Lady Kerr, needless to say, was the most elegantly gowned woman, and looked to be in complete command of herself and the situation. I instantly wished for a newer and cleaner gown, and a better way of fixing my hair. Odd, when I cared so little for any of that at the midnight meeting!

It was a boring evening. The hired musicians droned away in their corner, the guests talked softly amongst themselves and looked over the tables full of flora and fauna and what-not, and Sir F kept bustling up to one group or another, rubbing his hands and practically slavering all over himself in an effort to be genial. 

I stood aloof from the entire thing. Not entirely by choice, for I wouldn’t have minded conversing with someone, but nobody seemed inclined to ask me to join their conversation, and not for worlds would I have forced myself on them as Sir F kept doing. He, wretched little man, came up to me once or twice, both times asking about Arthur’s studies. It wasn’t until after the second time that I realized he was trying to lead the conversation around to the less-savory magical practices of the Etruscans, wondering what Arthur had learned about those.

“Sir,” said I, looking down my nose at him, “Even if my brother cared for such matters, he would not discuss them with his sisters. And even if he wished to do so, I would not listen.”

That silenced him! But then he did not come near me again, and so I was left utterly alone. Lady K, perhaps trying to show her displeasure with my refusal to join the Midnight Company, majestically ignored me, and the rest followed her lead, without even knowing they were doing so or why.

The refreshments were quite good, though, and I was enjoying a cup of tea and a biscuit when the governess found me.

“Miss Rushton,” she murmured in appropriately low tones for the occasion, “I am so sorry to disturb you, but I am afraid your niece has had an accident.”

I set the cup down and finished my biscuit. “Of course she has,” I said briskly. “Do take me to her.”

The governess led me out of the drawing room and down a gloomy, drafty hall. “She was most distraught,” she said. “So I took the liberty of removing her from the other children.” She paused before a door. “Sir Francis has been using this parlor for his study, but I thought Miss Katherine would find it soothing, coming from a family of scholars as she does.” She smiled brightly and flung the door open.

Kate sat, very red in the face, at a fine walnut desk covered with papers and books. Other books rose in precarious stacks from the table near the window, and balanced on spindle-legged chairs. The governess sighed.

“Such a clever gentleman, Sir Francis!” she said in adoring tones that made me wonder at her mental acuity. “So learned already, and yet always striving for yet more. You must appreciate that, Miss Rushton.”

“Yes, quite,” I said, wanting nothing more than to get rid of her. “Thank you. I can take care of my niece now.”

Thus dismissed, she left us to our own devices. I raised an eyebrow at Kate.

“Well?”

She crumpled her gloves in a ball in her lap—a lap, I now saw, that was soaking wet and stained. “I did not mean to drop the entire pitcher of lemonade in my lap, Aunt Elizabeth. Nor did I mean to jump when I did so, and smash it on the floor. Nor to land with my elbow in the plate of chocolate custard. Nor—”

I raised my hand to halt the narrative. I did not wish to hear of any more disasters, and I was fairly certain that merely by looking at her frock I could deduce everything that had happened. It was stained nearly everywhere.

“You are not fit to be seen, and that’s a fact,” I said. “Wait here and do not touch anything while I am making our excuses to our host.”

It was on my way toward the door that I first felt the odd harmonics in the air. I paused, but told myself not to be foolish. Then, as I began to open the door, I heard voices in the hall. Specifically, Sir F and the governess’ voices.

Naturally I stopped and listened.

“In my study, girl? You demned fool!” he said, probably trying to thunder majestically but only managing to whine. “You know I don’t want anyone in there but myself!”

“But sir,” the governess said breathlessly. “You spoke so highly of Arthur Rushton’s studies, and Miss Katherine was such a disgraceful mess that I couldn’t allow her to go anywhere people might see her, and I didn’t think you would mind if Miss Rushton stepped in …”

“Enough!” he said. “Go and get them out at once! I’d do it meself if I didn’t have guests. Quick, now!”

I nipped back into the room and this time, paid closer attention to the harmonics.

“Aunt Elizabeth?” Kate said, confused, but I could not spare the time to explain.

The harmonics were Sir F’s protection spell on the W’s notes reacting to the presence of my magic—even though I hadn’t cast a spell at all. In the end, Sir F’s spell was his undoing, for it allowed me to pinpoint where the papers were even buried under all the rest of the books and ephemera, and it was no protection at all against me. Indeed, it dissolved as soon as I touched the notes. Shoddy workmanship!

As Kate watched, mouth agape, I snatched up the papers and stuffed them into my reticule, then propelled her to her feet before the flustered governess opened the door.

“I’m so sorry …” she began, when I cut her off with great decision.

“I’m afraid we must be going now,” I said. “As Katherine is still recovering from illness, I do not want to leave her in this wet frock. Pray make my excuses to Sir Francis and Lady Rollingham.”

And with that, I swept out of the room, pushing Kate ahead of me and not stopping to think until we reached our lodgings.

I am aghast at my own actions. Why was I so foolish as to take the notes? Sir F will know it was I, for Kate and I and the governess were the only three to enter the parlor all night, and only I could have undone his spell. I suppose it was irritation at his pomposity, and distaste for his leering fascination with the appalling ancient magical practices that undid poor W, and (if I am honest) a burning desire to put one over on Lady K in her fine gown and supercilious manner!

I have not yet attempted to explain any of this to Kate, but I must soon, else goodness only knows _what_ she will be writing to Cecy.

_October 15, 1810_  
Lyme Regis  
Dearest Cecy, 

I made a cake of myself. Of course I did, but that’s not the main thing. Wait until you hear!

Spilling the lemonade was an accident. The other children were staring so at me, and the eldest Rollingham girl had said such _cutting_ things about my frock and hair, and generally everything about me, that as soon as I took the lemonade in hand, I knew I was going to spill it, and so I did.

Then I seemed to be possessed with a spirit of recklessness. It was already bad, why not make it worse? So I smashed the pitcher, ruined the chocolate custard, tipped the buns on the floor and stepped on them, and generally made a horrific mess both of myself and the schoolroom, all in a seeming fit of spectacular clumsiness. It was most satisfying, especially the look of woe on that Rollingham chit’s face as I destroyed every one of the refreshments before she had a chance to taste any of them.

I was mortified after—I still cannot think what made me act so! The governess took me to wait in Sir Francis’ study, and just as I was getting interested in some of the spells he had on his desk, Aunt Elizabeth came in with her most icy look.

This is where it all gets strange, Cecy. First, Aunt Elizabeth told me to wait while she said goodbye to Sir Francis and Lady Rollingham. Then, before she even left the room, she whisked back in, stopped short and rifled through some papers on one of the chairs, then _picked some of them up and put them in her reticule_ and took me out and back here without even saying goodbye or making apologies to our hosts!

Afterward, she told me that she saw that those papers had been torn out of a very old and valuable book, and scribbled on, and she was so outraged at Sir Francis’ vandalism that she lost her head, but it’s so odd. I have never seen Aunt Elizabeth lose her head over anything.

Besides, the papers all had neat edges and were handwritten, not printed. Surely one edge at least would have been jagged, had they been torn from a book?

And as I think of it, Cecy, I am almost positive that the handwriting looked _just like Aunt Elizabeth’s._ Is that not the oddest thing you ever heard?

In happier news, Aunt Elizabeth says my frock is utterly ruined, and I shall have to get a new one. I will see if I can talk her into letting me help choose fabric and style. If I am very repentant and helpful, maybe she won’t make me wait until Aunt Charlotte can have her final say.

_Ever yours,  
Kate._

_October 16, 1810  
Lyme Regis_

A most unexpected ending to an unpleasant episode.

Once again, I shall have to start at the beginning, else none of this will make sense even to me.

This morning, Kate and I were seated in our private parlor, finishing breakfast, when Mrs Grant knocked and entered.

She bobbed a quick curtsey. “Beg your pardon, miss, but there’s a lady here to see you.”

I raised an eyebrow and took another sip of tea. “Really? How dreadfully rude of her, to visit so early and then not even send in her name. I shall be with her directly as I finish breakfast. I trust she does not mind waiting.”

Kate’s eyes were huge, and the landlady looked horrified, but I had an inkling who it was, and what she wanted, and I did not care to give her any advantage.

“Thank you,” I added, when the landlady did not leave.

She had no choice but to curtsey again and back out of the room, wringing her hands in her apron. I calmly (and slowly) finished my meal, exhorted Kate to be sure to chew her food properly instead of bolting it in an unladylike manner, and finally patted my lips with my napkin, rose, left Kate with a book, and descended to the public sitting room.

To my surprise, it was _not_ Lady Kerr awaiting me, but Lady Rollingham. Although it would have been perfectly natural for her to be annoyed at having been kept waiting, she just looked as dull and dispirited as ever.

“Miss Rushton,” she said, her voice a low monotone.

“Lady Rollingham,” I said majestically. “This is an unexpected pleasure. What can I do for you today?”

“I fear I am here on a most unpleasant errand,” she said in a rush, her words all jumbled together. “I am afraid your niece—a most charming, high-spirited girl, I am sure—may have, in her youthful innocence, taken some important papers from my husband’s study last night, and I am here to ask you to give them back.”

As she finished speaking, she raised her head and looked me in the eye for the first time, and I saw that she wasn’t as meek and downtrodden as she appeared. Indeed, her eyes were hard and cold, and I began to wonder if she was just as bad, if not worse, as her husband.

“My Kate!” I said, my indignation real. “No such thing. She would never take something that didn’t belong to her. I am _astonished_ you would even think such a thing.”

Lady Rollingham rose to her feet, and I realized just how tall and strong she really was. She tops her husband by a good few inches. “Miss Rushton, someone took those papers, and you and your niece were the only ones in that room last night.”

“Not true,” I countered. “Your governess was also in there.” Under normal circumstances, I should never have dreamed of making such an unjust accusation, but given the girl’s unhealthy adoration for Sir F, it seemed the best thing in the world for her to be summarily dismissed. “Also,” I said, deciding it was time to muddle the waters yet more, “there were several other guests present last night, and unless you and your husband were watching all of them the entire time, any one of them could have entered your husband’s study and absconded with his papers.”

“Impossible,” she said, shaking her head. “For none of them breached the guardian spell—” she stopped short, apparently realizing she had said too much.

“A spell to keep people out?” I sniffed. “How ill-bred.” I meant that, too. I know it is considered quite normal for magicians and wizards to place warding spells around their private quarters, but I consider such doings uncommonly rude, for it assumes one’s guests are going to be snooping about.

Besides, neither Sir F nor Lady R are wizards. I could have told right off had they been. They are mere dabblers, dilettantes.  
“Be that as it may,” she said, controlling her temper with some effort. “The only people who were in Francis’ study last night were you, your niece, and our governess, and I already know that she would never dream of taking anything from there.” She narrowed her eyes. “And if you continue to deny that your niece took them, that can only mean that …”

I barely had time to throw a warding spell around myself before she pulled a small glass sphere out of her reticule and flung it at my feet.

It shattered, releasing a spell that staggered me even through my ward. Quite a clever idea, that—having a magician encase a spell in a shell so that even a non-wizard can use it simply by breaking the casing.

Lady R then drew a wand out of the bosom of her dress and pointed it at me. “Your wards may protect you against many things,” she said on a rising note of hysteria. “But not even they will save you from this!”

Everything happened at once then. I broke all my rules and vows once made to myself and began to cast a spell against her. She kept the wand steadily aimed at me and muttered feverishly to herself. And the door opened, and Kate came in, waving a piece of paper.

“Aunt Elizabeth, I’m finished with my letter to Cecy—what?”

In looking back and forth between us, the inevitable happened. Kate tripped, crashing into a small wooden side table cluttering the parlor. She and the table landed at Lady R’s feet, sufficiently distracting her long enough for my spell to land. She dropped the wand, which landed in Kate’s lap and promptly burst into flame.

Kate screamed, Lady R shrieked, and the landlady entered and fainted. I upended a vase of flowers over Kate’s lap to extinguish the flames (another frock ruined!) and slapped Lady R across the face, stopping her hysterics and giving myself great satisfaction at the same time.

“Return to your husband,” I said in a low voice. “Tell him that no one shall ever use W’s magic to hurt anyone, ever again.”

She left forthwith.

Mr Gordon and Lady K visited me shortly thereafter, begging me to give the notes to them. I told them the truth.

“I burned those notes in the fireplace the night I took them from Sir Francis’ house. No one shall ever lay eyes on them again.”  
Lady K was miffed with me, and said something about the loss to knowledge, but I think Mr Gordon was secretly relieved. They left as well, and then I was able to soothe the landlady and concoct a satisfactory story for Kate.

Dear child! Her entrance saved me from what I have no doubt was a very unpleasant spell stored in that wand, just waiting for the proper incantation to give it release. I shall have to do something nice for her in thanks.

I shall not forget, though, how this incident drew me so easily once again into using my own magic, and how vicious it turned so quickly. This only strengthens my belief that magic is dangerous, and that I especially should never use it.

I would never tell Lady K or Mr Gordon this, but the main reason I burnt the notes was not for fear of others using them.  
It was because I am very much afraid I could not resist the temptation to delve into magical studies if I kept them.

_October 16, 1810_  
Lyme Regis  
Dear Cecy, 

Only think! Aunt Elizabeth is going to oversee and pay for not one, but two new dresses for me! And she says I may choose the colors, so long as I don’t pick anything terribly gaudy or outlandish.

She hasn’t said why, but I think it might have something to do with me stopping Lady Rollingham from accidentally setting fire to our lodgings. She is terribly unbalanced, poor thing, and didn’t know what she was doing. She and Sir Francis have left Lyme, and it is rumored that he is taking her someplace where she can get help.

I certainly didn’t mean to stop her from doing anything, but if it means I get two frocks made for me, and not for-Georgy-someday, I don’t care! I don’t even care that I shall never solve the puzzle of the Mysterious Stranger, or Aunt Elizabeth’s Theft. I suppose it is all some dull, grown-up matter, anyway, and would be terribly dull if I found out the truth. Using my imagination to suspect Aunt Elizabeth of heroics and romance is far more entertaining, if wildly unlikely.

This truly has been the loveliest week ever. I shall see you soon.

_Ever yours,  
Kate._

**Author's Note:**

> To Betony:
> 
> Here is your fic! It was a genuine delight to write. I have never thought about a story from Aunt Elizabeth's point of view, but once I got into it, everything just flowed and came together. Thank you for the prompt! I had so much fun fulfilling it.


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